


Some Good Purpose

by StegesaurusKay



Series: Labours and Dangers Universe [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bullying, CPR, Cop AU, Drowning, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, George Washington is a Dad, Past Child Abuse, Slice of Life, dismissive not very nice adults, mention of murder, misunderstanding of foster care, washingdad and hamilson, young Alex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StegesaurusKay/pseuds/StegesaurusKay
Summary: There were some problems. Didn’t work out. Struggling to adapt. Needs a home. Someone who understands. Stability.He bites his lip and looks down the long hallway toward the outside. Alex could just go, just run. He doesn’t need anyone. Five homes in two years and he doesn’t need any of them. All of nine years old, Alex remains stubbornly certain he can make it on his own. The voice on the other side of the door stops suddenly, the footsteps come closer and Alex knows what’s coming next-This may be your last chance.A prequel. Covering the 15 years before the events of Labours and Dangers.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington
Series: Labours and Dangers Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2118426
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. Every Endeavor

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! Kay here! Welcome to a fic that absolutely had to happen. (Actually, if you follow me on Tumblr you'll recognize this fic. I posted this chapter there a few months ago).
> 
> This is first and foremost a foster care fic, though the storyline is a prequel to Labours and Dangers. Though this fic covers a fifteen year span before Labours, there's no need to read Labours and Dangers to understand this story.
> 
> The title comes from a letter George Washington wrote to Martha after he was made Commander in Chief of the Continental Army. The title of this chapter comes from the same letter.
> 
> We hope you enjoy!

**May, 2004**

When Washington put his and Martha’s name on the list, he wasn’t actually expecting the call. So some two years down the line he finds himself staring at the phone long after the conversation has ended, his heart in his throat. He’s not sure how long he sits like that, with the receiver in hand, mouth hanging open.

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Someone questions him, concerned, from the doorway, and finally he reacts and clears his throat.

“Fine.” Washington quickly hangs up, picks up the phone again and dials a number. He needs to speak to Martha.

A few moments later, she chuckles on the other end of the line.

_ “Well, it may be our last chance.” _

He hears the smile even over the phone, so when he calls the first number again he gives an enthusiastic, ‘yes.’

That afternoon Washington leaves the precinct early, something he rarely does. 

But he needs to go shopping.

...

Alex’s feet don’t quite reach the floor as he swings them back and forth in the dim hallway. He’s been here before, five times in two years, in fact. On the other side of the heavy door he can here Mr. Stevens’ muffled voice. He can’t quite make out the words, but he’s heard this call before. It’s always the same.

_ There were some problems. Didn’t work out. Struggling to adapt. Needs a home. Someone who understands. Stability. _

He bites his lip and looks down the long hallway toward the outside. Alex  _ could _ just go, just run. He doesn’t  _ need _ anyone. Five homes in two years and he doesn’t need any of them. All of nine years old, Alex remains stubbornly certain he can make it on his own. The voice on the other side of the door stops suddenly, the footsteps come closer and Alex knows what’s coming next-

_ This may be your last chance. _

...

Hours later Alex sits in a little room with a large table. He’s alone, Mr. Stevens is outside making a phone call. His backpack sits on one side and a small trash bag on the other. Mr. Stevens said he was supposed to be picked up at eight. The clock on the wall shows it’s nearly nine. It’s fine.

Then there are footsteps in the hallway, heavy and quick, not ones he is used to. A moment later the door swings open and Alex’s eyes go wide.

...

_ The officer keeps him away, tries to distract him, though Alex doesn’t understand why. He’s already seen her. “My mom’s dead.”  _

_ “I know,” He says, frowning. “I’m sorry.” _

_ Alex nods. Other officers asked him questions before, what he saw, how long was his mother like that, but he doesn’t remember, not really.  _

_ “There was a man…” But he was nothing more than a shadow. Alex can’t remember what he looks like.  _

_ Then Alex’s father comes. He’s loud. He just wants to leave, pacing the kitchen after the body is removed, pulling Alex along by the arm. One of the officers wants to ask him questions, so Alex is left alone again.  _

_ “What does your father do, Alex?” The kind officer asks him. _

_ “Dunno,” He shrugs. “He’s not home a lot.” _

_ The officer has some odd look in his eye. He produces a small card and gives it to Alex. “Call me if you ever need help.” He smiles, and it’s warm, like his mother’s was.  _

_ Two months later, crying, shoulder dislocated, he calls the number from a payphone outside his father’s apartment. The officer comes, Alex needs him. He takes him to the hospital, and then he lets other people take Alex away. He screams. He was supposed to  _ **_help_ ** _ him! _

...

“You’re…”

“Lieutenant Washington. Do you remember me, Alex?” The man smiles and takes a slow step.

Alex jolts to his feet, blinking furiously as tears sting his eyes. His hair is stringy, a little too long and hanging in his face. “Why’re you here?” Why now? This man saved him from his father and left him crying in a hospital two years ago. Why show up  _ now?! _

“Mr. Stevens called. He said you needed somewhere to stay.” 

Lieutenant Washington shifts and leans against the table. He moves slowly, carefully, like he’s trying to keep from scaring an animal, and eventually he’s crouched in front of him. Alex frowns and takes a step back.

“Why?”

Washington blinks, and doesn’t dare move closer for the moment. He sees it, from years of encountering runaways, the boy is moments from bolting. Terrified. “Like I said, Mr. Stevens called me. He said-”

“-this’s my last chance. They’ll put me in some home next.” The boy trembles, but Washington cannot tell if it’s from anger or fear or something else. 

“That doesn’t have to happen. You can come home with me. My wife, Martha- she’s excited to meet you.”

“Why _now?”_ Tears finally spring from Alex’s eyes as he asks the question for a third time. “Why didn’t you help me _then?_ You let them take me and you left!”

Washington’s heart breaks at that. He hadn’t wanted to leave the boy in that hospital either after social services arrived, but that’s… how it works. What else could he have done? He nods slowly, “I- I’m sorry.” 

Alex sniffles, but holds his ground. “You didn’t want me.”

“That wasn’t my decision then. That’s- that’s not how it works.” It’s painful to attempt to reason this with a nine year old who’s been hurt over and over again. “But, you can come home with me now, and I promise you’ll be taken care of. My wife has been preparing a room for you all day. I think she bought every kind of cereal in the aisle because she wasn’t sure what you’d like for breakfast, and-”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“You’re late.”

Washington feels a little sheepish at that. He’d lost track of time at the store himself, trying to find something that the boy might like. He reaches into his uniform jacket pocket and holds out a small book, just short stories. Alex stares with huge eyes, his face suddenly unreadable. 

“Mr. Stevens said you read on an eighth grade level. This might be too simple for you, but still, consider it a ‘welcome home’ gift.”

“It’s… for me?” Alex looks up. He’s not been given something  _ just for him _ since his mother died.

“Of course. Martha and I never had children, so I wasn’t sure you’d like it.” Washington slowly reaches over and picks up Alex’s bag. He reaches out to take the boy’s hand, but Alex clutches the book more tightly and looks away. “I know you’ve had a… rough time, since we last met, but…” 

But what? He’ll promise nothing will ever hurt him again? That everything will be perfect? That he’ll have everything he could want?

Washington would love to assure all of that, but he knows what the world is truly like.

He crouches to Alex’s eye level again, and offers a genuine smile. “I’ll try my best.”

Alex gives him a long look, and finally, slowly, he nods. He still won’t take Washington’s hand, but as they leave he walks right alongside him. He doesn’t loosen his hold on the book.

They head outside, to the car in silence, but there’s hope. Washington draws a deep breath and starts for home.

They’ll give each other a chance. They can do this. Together.


	2. Providence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex struggles to settle in with the Washingtons. The Washingtons are doing everything they can to make him feel at home. Then comes the neighborhood summer party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up about six weeks after Chapter One.
> 
> Please be warned this chapter contains bullies/bullying and people who don't understand fostering/the foster system.

**July, 2004**

Washington glances in the rear view mirror, watching for a moment as Alex’s thumbs shift against the controls of his hand held game. He clears his throat as they reach a stop sign. Alex doesn’t look up.

From the passenger seat Martha smiles and squeezes Washington’s arm. This is their first official outing as a family. None of them have called it… that word yet. The last six weeks or so have consisted of making every effort to make Alex comfortable. They’ve bought him everything they could think of to try to help him adjust, but truthfully Washington isn’t sure how they’re doing. Alex doesn’t ask for anything. And he doesn’t give feedback.

“The Adamses have a nice pool,” Martha turns so she can halfway see the boy in the back seat. “You brought your trunks, hm?”

Alex pauses the game a moment, glances to the bag next to him, and nods once without ever looking up at his foster parents. “Yeah.”

“Many of the neighborhood kids should be at the party. You might get to know some of your classmates before school starts next month,” Washington adds. Again, nothing from Alex. A few moments later they pull alongside the curb outside a large house.

A number of cars are already parked a little closer to the house. The Adamses live near enough that they could have walked, but Martha for years has brought along water balloons, games, sparklers, prizes, and everything else she can think of for the neighborhood children.

Alex remains focused on his game even after Washington shuts off the engine. “Alex? We’re here.”

The boy pauses the game again and finally looks up at Washington, then out the window to the house. Washington climbs out of the car and Martha is already busy unloading endless bags from the trunk. Alex slides out from his seat with almost hesitant speed. He takes a bag Martha holds out to him with his own, and follows her toward the back yard.

The party is always well attended, dozens of people milling about chatting, playing horseshoes, grilling burgers and hot dogs. Some two dozen children play in and around the pool, laughing and shrieking and playing.

Washington notices Alex hang back for a few moments. He almost looks pale, like he’s going to bolt. But before he can question Martha calls for Alex and he hurries toward her to deliver the bag handed off to him.

It’ll be fine.

...

Washington quickly settles in, speaking easily with a few neighbors near the grill. He’s halfway through his first beer when there’s a tug at his sleeve. He turns and- “Oh, Alex.”

“Can we leave now?” The boy asks, barely more than a mutter.

Washington blinks, frowns. They’ve only been here twenty minutes or so and Alex just seems… bored. “We haven’t been here long. Why don’t you play- where’s your game?”

A shrug. Alex says something, mumbled at the ground and Washington leans forward. He’s vaguely aware that some of the men have stopped talking to look over at them. “I didn’t hear you. Where did you say?”

“One of the other boys is playing with it,” Alex says at last. There’s some gleam in his eyes when his head snaps up, his gaze meeting Washington’s for an instant, but gone just as quickly when he looks back at the ground.

Washington frowns and looks toward the pool. There are still many children around, taking turns jumping in from the sides and diving board. “Why don’t you change into your trunks and swim for a while?”

Alex doesn’t say anything. He looks over at the pool, and then walks off.

“Surprised,” Adams says from the next chair.

“Hm?” Washington turns back to the group as he resettles in his seat.

“You said he’s a foster right? Aren’t they usually a little younger?”

“I thought the older ones lived in group homes,” Somebody else adds.

Washington shifts uncomfortably. He won’t explain the whole story, how he first met the boy the night his mother was murdered and everything that happened in the two year gap after. A dark implication settles in his mind. They think Alex is damaged.

“He doesn’t have anyone else,” Washington finally responds. “Besides, it’s only been a few weeks. We’re all still adjusting”

No one answers. A moment later the conversation shifts to baseball, the awkwardness forgotten for now. 

Eventually Washington is given a turn at the grill. From there he has a better view to see the children taking turns leaping from the diving board, creating the biggest splashes they can. Alex sits alone on the shallow end, feet dangling in the water, watching the others.

“He looks like he’s having fun,” Martha appears at his side, eyeing the burgers Washington works on before focusing on the pool. 

Washington smiles in agreement. He recalls being the new kid once. He wasn’t much older than Alex is now when he and his mother moved here after his father died.

Martha tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. “I’m going to help Abby fill the water balloons. Don’t forget, I like mine-”

“Burnt, yes,” Washington chuckles, shifting one patty closer to the center to get it more heat. “How ever did I marry a woman who so desecrates meat?”

She laughs and disappears into the house with Mrs. Adams.

Washington looks over at the pool again. Two older boys are speaking to Alex now. The taller of them gestures to the diving board. Eventually he gets up and follows. Well, that’s some improvement, hopefully. 

By the time Washington finishes at the grill he spots Martha and Mrs. Adams emerging from the house, each carrying a crate of water balloons. Someone else calls for the children near the pool. Food’s done. The combination of food and sight of the balloons sends most of the kids swarming over. 

Washington is positioned well enough to grab the food he grilled- burgers for himself, Martha, and Alex, before the children are everywhere.

“Need help getting out of there?” Martha calls, grinning after she puts the crate of balloons safely out of reach.

“Thank goodness we only have one,” Washington replies with a quick chuckle, passing her one of the plates. Luckily he keeps himself in top physical condition. His job requires it. He manages to navigate his way out of the clamoring maze of children without dropping any food.

“Where’s Alex?”

Washington turns. Martha is already looking among the faces around, and he does too. Alex isn’t there. He glances toward the pool and no, not there either. “Find us somewhere to sit,” He hands her the other plate. “I’ll find him.”

He checks the yard, the side yard, the car. No Alex. As Washington walks back he spots a boy, maybe twelve or so, sitting against the side of the house playing a familiar handheld game. When he inquires the boy doesn’t even look up.

“He said I could play with it.”

“Who?”

Another shrug. “Dunno is name. Skinny little kid.”

“Where is he?”

“I dunno.”

Something clicks in Washington’s mind and he instantly shifts into detective mode, solely focused on finding Alex. He’s sure the boy didn’t leave. He wouldn’t know the way to walk home. Retrace steps- where was he? He talked to Washington, he was by the pool, he talked to the older boys, followed them to the diving board…

Oh God…

Does Alex know how to swim?

Washington bolts toward the pool, barely slowing down as he comes alongside the edge. His heart seizes when he sees the form just drifting underwater near the diving board, familiar dark hair and the green trunks Martha bought a week ago. 

Instinct takes over.

He dives in without hesitation. Part of his mind is focused on getting to Alex, the rest tries to calculate how long the boy might have been under water..

He last saw Alex less than five minutes ago, he’s certain. But brain death begins at four minutes without oxygen. Permanent damage, a whole host of other problems.

Washington has the boy around the waist in seconds and they break the surface a moment later. Alex’s head falls limp against his arm.

Oh God. No, no, no!

He has to stay focused, force himself to calm even as his arms threaten to tremble. Somewhere nearby he hears Martha scream above others shouting as they race for the pool.

Washington sets Alex on the ground and bellows the order without a thought. Stay back. He needs space. He shouldn’t get emotional about this. Handling emergencies, saving people, it’s what he does.

But he’s never treated his own-

A child that relies on him.

He reaches forward and tips Alex’s chin back, then leans in close above the boy’s mouth. Not breathing.

Chest compressions then. Thirty.

Washington forces away all emotion as he begins. His movements are automatic, focused. The surrounding crowd he blocks out entirely.

Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.

Nothing.

Two breaths then.

Still nothing. 

So Washington begins again, counting in his head and forcing away the internal dread. Alex is pale, lips tinted blue.

Twenty-nine. Thirty. Two breaths. 

Alex remains still. No, no.

Washington is on the eighth round of compressions when he hears the sirens. A beat later Alex  _ finally _ spasms and tries to cough. He quickly turns the boy onto his side and holds his shoulder as he begins to cough up water. It takes a few seconds, but finally he hears the loud, watery breaths interspersed with coughs. 

Martha rushes forward and drops next to Alex, sobbing. Her attention is utterly focused on Alex. Once the coughing subsides she draws him into her arms and clings, rocking him as she continues to cry. Washington catches his eye and the boy looks dazed, bewildered. His bottom lip trembles, either from cold or fear he can’t tell. He reaches forward to tussle his the boy’s hair, but Alex flinches away and buries his face against Martha’s arm.

The paramedics look Alex over, listen to his lungs. They tell Washington there seems to be no need to transport to the hospital, though when the word is mentioned Alex curls himself more tightly against Martha.

“Can we go home? Please?”

Washington will think about it later, that the last time Alex was taken to a hospital, he was yanked away from everything he knew. 

Once Martha and Alex are settled in the car, he goes back for the boy’s clothes and anything important they might have left. The party seems quieter, people gathered and speaking quietly in groups here and there. Alex’s game- he should find that and return it to him. Washington moves through the crowd looking for the boy he saw with it, but his mind buzzes, he can’t quite recall a face.

“Well, that was some excitement,” Adams clasps a hand against Washington’s arm and he stills. “We’ve never seen you in action like that, George.” He says nothing in reply, his own adrenaline fading. His ears even ring a bit. “At least it’s not like your own child in danger.”

At that Washington pulls away, mood instantly darkened and angry. “Of course it was.”

He storms off.

So they go home. Washington and Martha both watch Alex like a hawk over the next few days, but the boy recovers with no lingering physical issues.

...

They’re lucky.

One morning a mother from the neighborhood shows up at the door and returns Alex’s game. It seems some of the boys took some dares too far at the party. Her son took the game, she claimed, until Alex agreed to jump off the diving board. She assures that her child never meant any harm. Boys will be boys, right?

He barely says a word.

Washington goes to Alex’s room once the woman leaves and holds out the game. He clears his throat. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

Alex huffs and takes the game, dropping onto his bed with it in his hands. “Would’ve just made it worse.”

“How?”

“You don’t make friends that way. Nobody likes it when you tattle.” He pauses, studying Washington a moment. “It didn’t look that deep. I wasn’t gonna jump anyway. I slipped.”

_ Slipped, or were pushed?  _ Washington so wants to ask, but he doesn’t. But he grows angry at the explanation. With the other boys, bullies. With himself. How did he not notice?

_ Struggling to fit in _ , Washington recalls the social worker telling him in that first conversation. 

Poor thing. Everyone Alex has known has failed him over the years. Washington pulls over a small desk chair and settles into it. It creaks a little as he sits and Alex looks up again.

“Sorry.”

“For what, Alex?”

The boy frowns and fidgets on the bed, hair falling into his eyes. It’s loose now, though long enough to be pulled into a short ponytail. “Everything. I can’t help it. I’m a screw up.”

“You’re not. Don’t say that.”

“Everybody else does.”

“Well, whoever everyone else is, is wrong.”

Alex’s shoulders droop. He continues to stare at the bed, fidgeting with the edge of the comforter. He bites his lip. “Are you gonna send me back?”

“Back? What do-” Oh. Oh, he knows what that means. The air races out of Wasington’s lungs. He could deflate and collapse right here. Alex is careful to keep his voice even, but with as much as a glance Washington can tell he’s terrified. 

“Of course not Alex. This is your home.”

“Home,” Alex mouths the word, but Washington smiles. Just that seems a huge step forward.

“For as long as you’ll have us, Alex.”

This time there’s a smile- almost. Alex nods and fiddles with the game.

“Go ahead, my boy. Play, and I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

Quickly as Alex turns the game on, Washington can’t help but wonder if they’ve made a breakthrough. Perhaps… but perhaps not. Alex is careful to hide his feelings from them. Washington rises, the chair creaking again. His hand is on the doorknob when Alex calls after him.

“Thank you. For saving me.”

“Of course, Alex,” He smiles over his shoulder. “I-”

Washington cuts himself off there. They don’t do this.

They don’t mention that word.

Love.

“Would you… show me how to swim?” At last Alex breaks an uneasy silence. 

“If that’s what you want, then certainly.”

“And show me how to save people, like you did?” Alex watches intently as Washington turns back. “Before school starts?”

“I- we can start whenever you’d like.”

“Tomorrow?”

Washington laughs, smiles. So eager. Alex reminds him of his own young self at times. “Tomorrow.”

This time before he turns to the door he doesn’t miss the bright smile from Alex. It’s the first real one he’s seen.

Maybe they are doing something right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! If you did please let me know what you think.
> 
> If you ever want to talk Hamilton or read any of the fics I've written that aren't good enough to post here, feel free to check out my tumblr [right over here!](https://stegekay.tumblr.com/)


End file.
